


The Figure in the Woods

by Taquelli



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Decisions, Other, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 05:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18243632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taquelli/pseuds/Taquelli
Summary: A Clone Trooper Lieutenant confronts a stranger after a series of disappearances among his platoon.





	The Figure in the Woods

CL-2917 remembered hearing from the locals that the woods were haunted, which he immediately took as Separatist propaganda trying to shake his platoon. Easy enough to send some drone troops into the forest and have them shake trees and make weird beeping noises to terrify the backwater yokels, and the perfect way to hide a base. His troops wouldn't be fooled though; superstition was quite literally not in their blood. When you have no history, it's difficult to be afraid of your past. At least, that's what he thought.

He was a little less skeptical after the fifth morning in the forest, when a fourth and fifth private had disappeared in the night. He had adjusted the patrol order so that nobody was caught alone, but it appears that whoever was out there wasn't intimidated by numbers. While he was reticent to being fooled by some underhanded tactics, he realized that he couldn't risk it any longer, and ordered everyone to stay in camp until further notice. He had called for backup from the main regiment, but had not heard back, knowing he wasn't likely to get the help he needed. He sat impatiently in his private tent waiting for the inevitable message to push on and try to find the Separatist camp. He was anxious; while the atmosphere among his soldiers were professional, he knew that they were feeling as tense as he was.

An hour passed and night fell, still without a word from command. Maybe they were out of range? He stood and stretched, realizing that he hasn't heard from any of his sergeants all afternoon. He felt a sudden urge to walk among the tents and make sure everyone was alright.

He stepped out to an eerie silence. The camp around him seemed to be completely abandoned. “This is CL-2917, calling CT-2934, come in please,” he said into his communicator, his tension spiking. There was no answer, just static. “CT-2942, provide a status report, now.” Again, nothing. “CT-2925!” he shouted futilely. They were all gone, his entire platoon. Right under his nose, while he sat uselessly in his tent. He drew his rifle and stepped through the abandoned encampment, ready to fire on anyone.

After checking a few tents with no one in sight, he caught sight of a light at the edge by the thick trees. He dropped to a crouch and moved as quietly as he could, coming into view of a single figure sitting on a stump near a small fire. The figure appeared to be wearing tactical armor, the blue hue almost purple in the firelight. He had a carbine at his belt, and a rounded helmet sat at his feet. CL-2917 believed that the figure hadn't seen him yet, and stepped forward cautiously.

“It's no use,” the figure called from his seat. “You all are way too noisy.”

CL-2917 froze, his combat instinct lost on him. He recovered quickly and squeezed the trigger on his rifle, to be met with a light click.

“Well that's not very nice,” the figure said, a light chuckle in his voice. His familiar voice. “I've taken all your ammo. Did so a couple of days ago in fact.”

CL-2917 dropped his gun and put his hands up in a defensive position.

“Oh come off it,” the figure said again. He turned, and CL-2917 was shaken upon seeing a face that he saw everyday. It was another clone trooper, but one not familiar to him, and not wearing the proper gear. He also...didn't talk quite right. There was an unusual clip to his voice.

“Shocking, huh?” the unknown clone trooper said. “Please. Sit.”

CL-2917 felt himself stagger over to a field chair that had been set up beside the fire. He sat and stared at the familiar stranger, trying to piece together just what he was seeing. “Where are my men?” he finally said.

“They're fine. They left a little bit ago.”

“Where?!” CL-2917 shouted.

“Shh...don't break the peace of the woods. It likes it quiet.”

“Who are you?”

The figure gestured nonchalantly. “Come on, you know my face. You see it in the mirror every day.”

“Which legion are you with? Who is your commander?”

“I'm more of a...free agent.”

CL-2917 mind spiraled with a thought he could barely recall, a fact that he knew that he didn't ever have time to think about, that his specific conditioning trained him not to think about, and he felt that conditioning fail.

“That's impossible.”

“What is? I'm sitting right in front of you, aren't I?”

“You're dead.”

“That's what they told you.”

CL-2917 shook his head. “No, no, the records were clear. He killed you.”

“Who killed me?”

“Mace Windu.”

“What was that name again?”

“General Mace Windu.”

The figure tilted his head to the side. “Huh. That's weird.”

“What do you mean?” CL-2917 said, his conditioning trying once more to snap him to attention.

“Why would a general of the great Clone Army have cause to kill me? That doesn't make any sense.”

“You defected to the Separatists.”

“Did I? Why would I do that?”

“I don't understand.”

The figure chuckled to himself. “I allowed the Republic to use my likeness, allowed them to spread my face all over the galaxy, and just...defected right before the Clone Wars started?”

“Maybe you were angry.”

“Why would I be angry? They paid me well.”

“I don't know that, you could be lying.”

“Why would I lie to you? That's be like lying to myself.”

CL-2917 felt a rage rise inside him. “We aren't you!” he hissed under his breath.

“Oh, struck a nerve, have I?” the figure said, a wry smile rising to his face. “Is that something you keep having to tell yourself? Something...they programmed you to tell yourself?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Whatever I want to do. Unlike you.”

CL-2917 stood up and began pacing in front of the fire. “This isn't happening, you're not real. There's something in the woods doing this, some kind of creature.”

“It doesn't matter if I'm real or not, you know,” the figure said. “Because even if I was a hallucination created by some monster, at best, I'd just be telling you things that you know already anyway.”

CL-2917 felt the conditioning snap. “What are you saying?”

“You know what I'm saying.”

“It can't be true.”

“But you thought it, didn't you? In your deepest, quietest dreams, it's come to you. You may be a clone, but at your heart, no matter how they raised you or changed your brain chemistry, you're still based on me.”

“No.”

“And I'm a bounty hunter. A bounty hunter who allowed himself to be cloned for the Republic to fight against the Separatists, several years before the war. Why would I do this?”

“Because all you care about is money. All YOU care about is getting paid.”

“And who paid me?”

“The Republic.”

“Why?”

“Because they needed an army?”

“To fight who?”

“The Separatists!”

“Who I worked for?”

“No, no, you worked for the Republic.”

“The Republic that decided that it needed an army.”

“Right, because...” CL-2917 mind trailed off.

“Because they knew there would be a war. Years before the Separatist movement was even a threat. They didn't want to dirty their own hands with it, didn't want the galaxy's fat, lazy citizens to actually experience hardship. Otherwise, they might not put up with a war. They might try diplomacy. So they come to me, a person with no clear allegiance, to create their perfect little army. To create you.”

“This is madness.”

“I work to ensure my army of myself is made perfect, while also talking with Separatists to make sure they have all they need. I play both sides and get paid well. Well, that's half true. I did get paid well.”

CL-2917 sat down hard on the chair with his hands against his head. “You can't be suggesting...”

“I'm a noble bounty hunter, you know. Wouldn't turn on a client, it's bad for business. Surely if I defected, double-crossed the Republic, I would have told the Separatists about the army much sooner, wouldn't I have?”

“Unless...”

“Unless, the Separatists were also my client.”

“But that would mean...”

“That the war is fake? Planned? That they knew all along it would happen and are fighting it for private nefarious reasons? Well now it makes a lot more sense that they would set me up, have me killed by their Jedi goons.”

“No!” CL-2917 shouted. “That can't be true. They wouldn't...”

“Wouldn't create you only to fight a pointless war? Wouldn't make you for the sole purpose of dying for a meaningless cause? Give you life only so you can be murdered by some stupid droid on a battlefield that doesn't ultimately matter, because both sides are secretly the same side?”

A wind echoes through the woods. 

“Why are telling me this?”

Jango Fett leaned forward and whispered in a voice that pierced the darkness. “Because you already know.”

They sat forever in the lonely echo, CL-2917 having lost all will, all anger, all feeling. The fire flared as Jango Fett placed another log on it, and CL-2917 could naught but stare at the swirling flames.

“You should go, you know?” Jango Fett finally said. “Get out of the army. Live a quiet life off the beaten path. Maybe find love. Have a kid. Well, if you can reproduce. Who knows, maybe? But, regardless, at least you won't die for nothing. At least I won't have died for nothing.”

Jango Fett stood up and grabbed his helmet, then waved goodbye as he walked into the dark woods. CL-2917, no, not anymore, the clone sat for a long moment, before returning to his command tent, grabbing all available supplies, and disappearing into the night. The next morning the clone squadron awoke to find that their lieutenant was missing, his communicator beeping with a message from command to return to base.


End file.
